


Policy

by rillrill



Series: Insurance [4]
Category: Veep
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-25
Updated: 2014-09-25
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2355698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>If Dan were a person who referred to his dick by name, not that he is, because that’s some frat-boy, Republican-senator-from-Missouri bullshit, but if he were, “The Washington Monument” would be a pretty great name. He’s just saying.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Policy

If, three months ago, someone had asked Dan to describe what he thought his life would look like in a month’s time, these are the things he would not have envisioned.

He would not have envisioned an ID card on a lanyard that says “EGAN, DANIEL, WEST WING” in big Arial Black letters, under the circa-2012 White House mugshot that Amy says looks like a photo you’d see accompanying an Investigation Discovery special about a Georgetown-area serial murderer, lying on his bedside table, where he had tossed it the night before after coming home late from after-work drinks.

He would not have envisioned a West Exec parking pass on the dashboard of his Lexus, which has not been cleaned in the past couple weeks and his backseat resembles an elephant graveyard made up of dry cleaning wire hangers and plastic bags, and, like, if you wanted to murder a small child, not that he has any plans to do so, yet, but if you were looking for a murder weapon suitable for a child, the backseat of his car is probably the place to look.

He would not have envisioned being back in the exact same position he held a year ago, only this time he’s not the deputy press director for the vice president, but for the motherfucking President of the United States, the motherfucking _POTUS_ , and all of a sudden he kind of gets why Jonah was such a dick all those years, because being able to walk into a room of strangers and announce “Dan Egan, West Wing” and see the respect register on all those strange faces is almost indecently awesome. Appending two words to his name has apparently turned him into a rock star – not like a Springsteen, but maybe a minor rock star, like, maybe he’s the Julian Casablancas of D.C., which would make sense, and if one were to finish this train of thought the rest of the way through, that might make Amy the Regina Spektor of D.C., on account of the whole touring-together-and-maybe-having-dated-once thing, plus Regina, like Amy, is undoubtedly a bomb-ass chick despite not necessarily being Dan’s cup of tea all the time. But she would hate that comparison because she has loudly denounced Dan’s “whiny ass bullshit music” in the past and never misses an opportunity to reference that time when he was overserved at a holiday party and found a guitar and tried to get everyone to sing along with “Crash Into Me.” That said, she once left her Spotify account logged in when he had to borrow her laptop, and she secretly listens to the Smiths all the time, basically the pinnacle of whiny-ass bullshit, so it’s not like she has any high ground on the subject. 

He also would not have envisioned waking up five minutes before his alarm due to Jonah elbowing him in the ribs. This is perhaps last on the list of things he would have imagined happening at any point in his life. He’s had incredibly vivid daydreams about winning Nobel Prizes and piloting planes through emergency landings and shit, but this was completely outside the realm of things-to-possibly-become-reality until the day that it _did_ become reality. Which was about a month and a half ago, after an incredibly long and alcohol-soaked flight back from London, and six weeks later he’s not sure how it’s happened but, like mononucleosis or termites or the idea that libertarianism is a political concept that holds ideological water, Jonah has seamlessly insinuated himself into Dan’s life. 

Jonah is stretched out on the left side of Dan’s king-sized bed, taking up far too much room, because seriously, the guy has the wingspan of a California condor, and apparently the grace as well, because he manages to hit Dan in the ribs _again_ as he shifts his weight on the mattress. “Ow,” says Dan, in a state of half-wakefulness, as he rubs the spot on his rib cage and squinches his eyes closed to block out the incipient daylight starting to stream through the windows running along the side of his bedroom. 

“Mmmf,” replies Jonah, his face smushed into one of Dan’s expensive Restoration Hardware pillowcases that had been painstakingly selected by the interior designer he’d overpaid to make his apartment look like a place where a person actually lived, more like a den of political and sexual iniquity than what it really was, which was basically a fallout shelter for all his terrible decisions where he’s only sent when he really fucks something up. Dan shifts and sits up and grabs blindly for his phone, and no, he’s not going to get that extra five minutes, because once he wakes up he’s up, period, full stop. He would not describe himself as a morning person, per se, but he doesn’t go through any period of drowsiness after being awoken, and now he’s awake and everything’s just great, it’s fantastic, _Jesus fuck_ why is that light so bright who rents an apartment with windows that face east? He makes a mental note to get some fucking blackout curtains installed before the week is up, because Christ, that is awful.

He groans and rubs sleep out of his eyes and then knuckles Jonah in the side, because that fucker’s certainly not going to stay asleep while he’s up early. And, like, when did he become someone who was okay with having someone sleep over? For that matter, when did he become someone who was okay with _Jonah Ryan_ sleeping over?

This is what happened: Selina became president.

Selina became president and everyone’s world shifted on some fundamental level, some levels more fundamental than others. 

Selina became president and it became pertinent that Dan keep his job, and maybe he used Jonah a little bit to achieve that end, but he does not feel bad about it because the ends were justified and Jonah fucking _owed_ him. Because Kent fucking Davison does not just get to lead Dan Egan into a closet and threaten to fire him like some disposable body, all right? That does not happen in this timeline. Kent fucking Davison can go fuck himself with the robot dildo he undoubtedly owns.

The point is that Dan doesn’t feel bad, because he’s not just Dan Egan, shark-toothed walking disaster of the EEOB; he’s Dan Egan, West Wing, maybe a little soulless but steely and still standing nonetheless, and maybe Selina’s campaign is a sinking ship but that’s Amy’s problem now, and honestly what the fuck kind of party doesn’t rally around a VP-turned-POTUS in a time of crisis, even fucking Gerald Ford got an easier ride than this. He’s got a taste of real power now – Rose Garden, nuclear codes, West Exec Parking power – and it’s all he’s ever wanted. And it’s giving him a boner the size and tensile strength of which rivals the Washington Monument.

If Dan were a person who referred to his dick by name, not that he is, because that’s some frat-boy, Republican-senator-from-Missouri bullshit, but if he were, “The Washington Monument” would be a pretty great name. He’s just _saying_.

The point is: perpetual power boner, plus new job with plenty of perks, but no free time to exercise said perks other than the sweet parking. Plus the whole working-with-Jonah thing now. Plus the fact that there are closets in the West Wing that lock from inside. Plus the fact that he’s never been in a position like this before, where he can flirt with beautiful women all day long, shove it right in Jonah’s face to get him wound up and put out, and then get him behind closed doors and let the fireworks fly. Because their mutual antagonism, it turns out, had just been the most twisted seductive long game either has ever played. 

The point is: Jonah shifts again, half-asleep, and then in one move, rolls over and wraps both arms and one leg around Dan, effectively trapping him there in bed. Jonah nuzzles into the side of his neck and mumbles something unintelligible, and Dan finds himself thinking that the guy is at his least terrible when he’s too sleepy to form words. They don’t normally do the whole sleeping-over thing. The short explanation is that they got absolutely hammered the previous night on way too many pints of Guinness at some generic Irish sports bar and Jonah was absolutely not good to drive himself home. The longer, and more truthful answer is that the older Dan gets, the more he hates sleeping alone. So all of that is to say that he doesn’t absolutely hate the present circumstances. Jonah lays a soft kiss on Dan’s neck, then another, _right_ on the tender part of his throat that Dan swears is connected straight to his dick. He’s not sure how the hell he ended up with such a sensitive neck. It can’t be an evolutionary advantage or anything, it’s an obvious weakness, but the point is, it’s fucking fantastic, and he groans and gropes for Jonah’s thigh blindly under the sheets and makes an executive decision. West Exec decision-making power. He has that now.

The point is: twenty minutes later, they’re sitting in his kitchen with Morning Edition blaring from the fancy vintage-looking combination radio and record player he’s had since college. Dan’s drinking black coffee and scrolling through the news on his iPad (he only has one iPad now, and he’s okay with that, let Amy deal with the two iPads, again, that’s her problem) while Jonah ignores him from across the room, where he’s perched on a bar stool at the counter, scrolling through his own iPad and drinking his own cup of coffee. And Dan is, weirdly enough, okay with this. 

“Fuck,” says Jonah abjectly from across the room, and Dan looks up from his email. He repeats himself louder when Dan doesn’t immediately respond: “Oh, _fuck_. Fuck this. Fuck me.”

“Do you have Tourette’s or something?” Dan asks.

“No. Worse.” Jonah cradles his head in his hands, rubbing his temples with his spatulate fingertips like he’s got the world’s worst migraine. “Front page of Gawker. Just – go look.”

Dan’s stomach drops as he envisions worst-case scenarios for the campaign: Air Force One crashing outside of Miami, Chung saving a school bus full of orphans from a blazing fire, Selina caught in bed with Gary (as if, he’d have a heart attack at the mere suggestion). The page doesn’t load quickly enough. But when the text finally shows up, he’s pretty sure he’s having an aneurysm.

This is even worse than a worst-case campaign scenario, because it’s about him.

_Blind item time! A confidential tipster reports that White House Deputy Director of Communications Dan Egan, whose office most recently came under fire for leaking a false report about Governor Danny Chung torturing innocent Iraqis, has reportedly been linked to a former White House aide turned disgraced Beltway blogger. The pair has allegedly been spotted palling around all over D.C., and a source close to the fledgling couple says they’ve been sneaking around for months._

“Motherfucker,” Dan hisses as he loads the comments section (despite everything he’s learned, never read the comments, he always reads the comments). “Holy fuck. There’s speculation about us in here.”

“Fuck me with a rusty rake,” mutters Jonah. “Look at this – some guy named ‘Douchenozzle’ says ‘Is that the goon from Ryantology? That site makes me want to murder puppies. It makes Upworthy look like Pulitzer material.’ Okay, first of all, fuck you, Douchenozzle, and second –”

“Look at this one!” Dan explodes. “‘RonFuckingSwanson’ says ‘I don’t know who this Dan guy is, but he looks like a total power bottom to me.’ Okay, first of all, I don’t know how they _knew_ that, and second off, I swear to God, I’m going to find whoever published this article, rip out their dick, deep-fry it, make them eat it, and then just fucking murder them anyway.” He silently scrolls through the page until he hits the end, and then pushes his tablet away in disgust. 

“Wait a minute,” Jonah says, setting his coffee cup down on the kitchen table as he leans over Dan’s shoulder. “Why are we losing our shit already? I am hardly the only person who fits that description. What about Mia Newman?”

“Who the fuck is Mia Newman?” Dan snaps, still smarting.

“Dude, you remember that story? Four years ago, she was the top assistant to POTUS’ chief of staff before she got fired for blogging about how she got paid to have sex with senators and shit. Then she got a book deal but never actually wrote the book because she blew the advance on coke, so now I think she’s being sued by Random House. Last I heard, she was writing for XO Jane or some terrible site like that. Point is, I’m doing way better than she is, but if you don’t want to blow your cover –”

“Dude.” Dan is taken aback by Jonah’s forethought. All he has to do is find Mia Newman’s contact info, set up a rendezvous somewhere where there will be bloggers, and no one will be any wiser. “This will probably be the first and last time I ever say this, so feel free to savor it, but Jonah, you’re a fucking genius.”

Jonah grins a little, looking proud in spite of himself. “I think I actually might have her number somewhere.”

“I – _fuck_ – I just –” Dan is genuinely at a loss for words. “You’d do that for me?”

“Of course…?” Jonah turns the phrase into a question at the last second. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because, no offense, but that’s not what we do.” _We fuck each other over for fun, profit, and foreplay_ , Dan wants to add, but he bites back the words before adding, “We’re just not really, you know, that kind of co–”

“Couple? Did you almost say _couple_?” Jonah crows, triumphant. “Jesus, Dan, get off my dick. We’re not getting married, I just thought I’d help you out here since you’re the one who was actually outed –”

“I didn’t say _couple_ ,” Dan seethes. “I was going to say _couple of guys_ , we’re not those kind of guys who help each other out in rough situations, it’s more like a sink-or-swim dynamic with us, but if you’re going to be a massive fucking prick about it, you can fuck back off to your viral videos and metered parking, asshole.”

Jonah smirks, leaning back against Dan’s granite kitchen counter top with his arms folded across his dark grey t-shirt. “Whatever you say, Daniel.”

“It’s way too fucking early to be having this conversation,” Dan says, draining the last of his coffee and sliding the mug across the table. “Do you want a ride to work or not?”

“Of course, _honey_ ,” Jonah says, twisting the pet name into a perverse insult in the way that only Jonah can.

“I swear to God, I will murder you and send your head in a box to your fucking uncle as retribution for ever getting you into politics in the first place,” Dan mutters under his breath. Jonah hears him anyway.


End file.
